


Like, Confirmed Gay: A Love Story in Three Acts

by scarletjedi



Series: postsecret 'verse side stories [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: "I got your back" means "I love you" in bro-speak, California Dreaming, M/M, Pinn Week, Postsecret Verse Spin Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Two dudes, one bed? That’s like, confirmed gay.”</i>  - Noah Puckerman</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like, Confirmed Gay: A Love Story in Three Acts

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins halfway through chapter 4 of The Holidays, the 5th story in my Kurtofsky Postsecret Verse. If you've not read that, then all you need to know for this story is that Dave comes out to his family at Thanksgiving Dinner, and his mother doesn't take it well. He leaves and goes to the Hudmel house, where he tells Kurt what happened in the kitchen.
> 
> Thanks to raving_liberal for the impromptu beta :)

There was a strange quality to the air after Karofsky left, something tense and sad and totally different from the post-game rush. Finn hadn’t meant to listen, but he was thirsty and the Coke was in the ‘fridge in the kitchen and by the time he realized what Karofsky--what Dave was telling Kurt, there was no way to leave without drawing attention to himself. So he stayed, and he listened, and he learned. 

He couldn’t imagine--and Finn screwed his eyes up tight to try and imagine--what he would do if his mom--

Finn shook his head and backed away, creeping as slowly as he could until he hit the stairs and turned, fairly scrambling up the steps. Puck was where Finn had left him, sprawled across Finn’s bed, game controller in hand. 

“Dude,” Puck said, not looking up from _GTA: Sin City._ He crashed his car and fell back on the bed to look at Finn upside down. “Where’s the drinks?” 

Finn meant to say that he forgot them. Or that they were out. Or anything other than, “Karofsky’s mom told him he was sick for being gay.” 

Puck stared at the ceiling. “I’m not surprised,” he said at length. “It explains a lot about him, if he had that to come home to.” Puck sighed. “You know why I don’t clean the Henderson pool?” 

Finn shook his head. What did that have to do with Dave? 

“I was over at the Hendersons, and Mrs. Henderson had Mrs. Karofsky over, and they were in the back, sipping margaritas or whatever, and watching the Puckmeister do his thing. I was giving them the show, you know? Two for the price of one? Not a bad deal. But while I was showing off my rippling back and super-fine ass, I heard Mrs. Karofsky say that she _almost can’t tell he’s Jewish,_ and Mrs. Henderson agreed with her.” Puck shrugged. “So I put my shirt back on, padded the bill, and never went back.” 

Finn sat next to Puck. “I had no idea...” he trailed off. Ever since Burt had taken him to task for what he said to Kurt, Finn had been paying closer attention to what he said. And by paying attention to what he said, he heard a lot more of the hate in what other people said. Most people didn’t mean it, though, were just saying it because that’s what you say--which was its own kind of horrible. But when people said things, and _meant_ them, it still threw Finn for a loop. 

Kurt was a great brother--he would never tell anybody that sometimes, when he brought warm milk to Finn, it was because Finn was upset over something he overheard and was blindsided by the casual hate. Yeah, Finn could be insensitive at times, but--not like that. 

Puck twisted around on the bed, laying his head in Finn’s lap. “I know, bro,” Puck said, arching into Finn’s hand as he smoothed it over Puck’s mohawk. Finn didn’t touch Puck’s hair often, not since they were both a lot smaller, but when they were kids, he liked the way the curls would bounce in his hands. Now that they were older, Finn missed those curls, but he loved the contrast between the hair and the rasp of the shaved sides. And Puck liked it too, always closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, so it was okay. 

“Puck,” Finn said, suddenly worried, “What if Mom--” 

“Shut up,” Puck cut him off. “Never happen. Besides,” Puck held his fist up to bump. “I got your back, bro.” 

Finn bumped fists. 

And if Puck crashed there that night, jostling for space on Finn’s bed, Finn’s fingers still curled in Puck’s hair, well, then that was okay, too. 

***

“Fuck-- _fuck_ her,” Puck said, waving his hand dismissively, nearly knocking over a trio of empty beer bottles. They were in Puck’s room this time, Puck mother with his sister at their Grandmother’s house, and the two of them drinking away their problems. 

“No,” Finn shook his head, slowly because his head felt heavy, then again because of science; objects in motion like to stay in motion. Finn didn’t know why he was thinking of science right now. He wasn’t good at science. Like he wasn’t good at being Rachel’s boyfriend--ex-boyfriend. Which was the point. “No--I _can’t_ fuck her, that’s the problem.” 

Puck blinked at him, and then gestured towards Finn’s crotch. “Is it a--speed thing?” Puck’s eyes were very wide and kinda red and very earnest. 

Finn flushed red. Redder. “No,” Finn rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I told you that,” he grumbled. 

Puck’s eyes widened further--Finn didn’t think that was possible, and he stared, transfixed. Puck looked like one of those Anime cartoons that Lauren used to read in the back of the class--the ones with boys that looks like girls and were labeled with jumbles of letters: ymca or youi or yaoi or something. “Is it--” Puck held out his hand and flopped his fingers down. 

“No!” Finn said, shifting. Because he meant yes. Well--it’s not that he couldn’t, it’s more that--Finn sighed. Even explaining it in his own head was hard. “She never wanted to, and I never pushed, because I’m not a pusher, but then--after,” Finn stopped. He hadn’t told anyone this yet, but Puck _had_ to understand. 

“She came over last night and got all--almost naked. Wanted me back, said she’d sleep with me.” Finn shrugged. “I told her no, said we were over, but--I didn’t even want to.” Finn looked at Puck, and felt his heart race. “What if I can’t anymore? What if she broke something?” Finn started to panic. “I don’t want a broken dick!” 

Finn flapped his hands, gearing up, but then he was on his back, and Puck was on top of him, holding him down, holding him steady, and there was a large, warm hand on his--

“Dude!” Finn protested, but--but it felt _good,_ and his hips pumped against Puck’s grip. But--Finn didn’t think it _should_ feel good--didn’t think he should _want this._

“Relax,” Puck whispered into Finn’s ear. “There’s nothing--we’re just making sure, right? That everything work? A bro lending a bro a helping hand, remember? I got your back.” 

Finn calmed, letting the weight and warmth of Puck soak into him. He did remember, vaguely, those early days of high school, here in Puck’s room, drinking from stolen bottles and giggling themselves dizzy, ‘practice’ kissing because they were going to be the studs of the school, and you couldn’t be a stud if you didn’t know what you were doing. 

Finn reached a hand up, tangled his fingers in the back of Puck’s mohawk, and drew their mouths together. It had been years since their last kiss, and there had been so many people in between, but they slotted into place like it had been no time at all. Puck tasted kinda different, more like beer and less like schnapps, but still like Puck and--

Oh, Puck had gotten _good_ at this. 

Finn thought, distantly, that it should be weird--they didn’t really _need_ practice anymore--but as with everything else in his relationship with Puck, if it felt good, it couldn’t be wrong. Finn closed his eyes, and let himself feel. 

And when Puck tugged open Finn’s pants, slipped that warm hand inside and touched him-- _finally_ touched him--it felt like more than the relief of moments--more like the culmination of years of waiting, and Finn was gone, biting at Puck’s lips, scrabbling at Puck’s clothes, clumsy and shaking as he tried to open Puck’s jeans and touch--finally touch--

Puck broke the kiss, panting harshly against Finn’s cheek as he reached down and helped Finn undo the button fly, and Puck’s groans echoed in Finn’s ears as they pushed denim and cotton out of the way and then it was just skin on skin and hands on cocks and _\--fuck--cocks_ on cocks and Puck’s tongue licking around the shell of his ear, and Finn tightened his grip on Puck’s hair and came messily over their entwined fingers. 

Finn stared up at the ceiling, painting and drifting on _good feeling,_ as Puck cleaned them up with his discarded boxers. Puck flopped back down, curling and shoving and making space for himself as he always did, and Finn wrapped himself around Puck. 

“See?” Puck said into Finn’s shoulder. “Still works.” 

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, already sinking into sleep. “This works.” 

***

 

_“Come to California with me--With your business sense, and my jawline? We can’t lose.”_

Finn didn’t have to think. Where Puck went, Finn would follow. He nodded, and Puck’s grin was blinding. They bumped fists--sealed the deal. Later that night they would celebrate, high on plans of the future and Reyerson’s special blend, bumping in a different way, but right now, Finn could see everything he wanted in that smile. 

 

***

After graduation, Puck and Finn pooled their resources. Finn sold his truck, added his graduation money to the savings Puck had gathered from the business. They said goodbye to their parents, Puck’s sister, and saw Kurt and Dave off to the East Coast, and then the two of them drove West until they hit beach. They celebrated with a bottle of tequila and the messy-wrestling kind of sex that they had kinda-sorta forgotten to stop having. With Senior year in the home stretch, with both of them heading off to the West Coast, it hadn’t made sense to find someone new, and Finn had been scared off one night hook-ups after Santana, and it still felt _really good,_ and Finn didn’t want to stop. 

They spent the first few weeks looking for work, spreading the word, napping in the shade on the beach with the tourists, swimming in the surf when it got too hot to work, curling up with and over and around each other in the back of the van when the sun went down and the temperature dropped, eating dollar store peanut butter on dollar store crackers until the first calls came in. A month after moving west, they had saved enough money to look for an apartment, but when Finn looked at the two-bedroom apartments (because that’s what Puck had said back in front of their lockers, and Finn didn’t want to look too closely _then_ why it had heard to hear Puck say that, but he was pretty sure he knew why _now,_ but he had already taken advantage of his bro for long enough--), Puck looked over his shoulder, and snorted. 

“Don’t waste the money, man. One bedrooms.” Puck thought for a minute. “Maybe a studio. We’ll save some more, get a bigger place at the end of this lease.” 

Finn paused, afraid to hope but doing it anyway. “Can’t fit two beds in a studio,” he said, forcing casual and failing. 

Puck shrugged, equally failing at casual as he tugged on his forelock. It had been a while, Puck needed a haircut. But Finn liked to think Puck kept it longer because Finn liked to touch it so much. Liked it enough that he almost missed it when Puck said: “So we’ll get one.” 

Finn licked his lips, nervous. “I thought you said two dudes in one bed was ‘confirmed gay.’?” 

Puck shrugged again, not saying anything for long enough that Finn started to get worried. Finally, Puck blew out his breath in a huff, and said, “Well, maybe I want to be ‘confirmed gay’,” He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. Looked Finn in the eye, “--with you.” He paused. “Asshole.” 

Finn grinned. “Jackass,” he shoved Puck’s shoulder, and Puck danced away and back, laughing. “You had me worried.” 

Puck grinned back, wide and carefree. “I told you, man. I got your back.” 

Finn stepped in, wrapped his arms around Puck and reached one down to grip Puck’s ass. “Nah,” Finn said. “This time, I got yours.”


End file.
